Timeless
by Artistic Entertainer
Summary: A girl with extraordinary musical abilities, Bella was transported from 1933 to the 21st century when she stumbles upon a magical symphony. Soft-spoken Edward then catches her in a whirlwind of his beautiful playing, igniting the start of a fiery romance.
1. Chapter 1

**Timeless**

A girl with extraordinary musical abilities, Bella was transported from 1933 to the 21st century when she stumbles upon a magical symphony. Soft-spoken Edward then catches her in a whirlwind of his beautiful playing, igniting the start of a fiery romance.

**Chapter 1**

The notes clashed together, the chords mismatched and the noise was appalling. I frowned, looking at the faded notes on the dog-eared parchment, trying to figure out ways to string them together.

I tapped my fingers absentmindedly on the yellowing keys of the seemingly ancient grand piano, my mind whirling, trying to process the semiquavers seated amongst dotted quavers for the right hand and the consecutively multiple notes for the left hand. How on earth could this befuddling piece of music be _dolce_? It was far too quick, too mismatched, not at all sweet...

Eyes still fixated on the score, I carefully shifted on the spindly chair, fingering the back of my dress as I tried to loosen my corset for the umpteenth time today. It was even tighter than usual, thanks to the upcoming wedding ceremony.

I'd only met the man once before and he was the common wealthy flirt with charming words – charming enough to convince my father to let him marry me. I didn't love him, and I was mightily sure he reciprocated these feelings.

I sighed, and shook thoughts of it from my mind. I had one hour before the ceremony started. As I could expect to be stuck there for the rest of the evening, mostly stepping on his feet during the dance and spilling drinks and... let's just say I might as well enjoy what time I had left before it.

I squinted at the notes, ones I had found stuffed inside the dusty grand piano... and laughed as I realised my mistake – one that was most basic – I'd missed the key signature! Excited, I sat up, ignoring the constantly throbbing ache in my waist and started playing all over again.

To my displeasure, the notes sounded even more disharmonious. Refusing to give up, I continued to play the stubbornly clashing notes. I was so deep in concentration that my surroundings seem to blur. Hitting the last note with satisfaction, I looked up only to realise that I was staring right into a pair of wide golden eyes.

Shocked, I staggered back and toppled off the chair, successfully smashing it into the ground with a loud crash. Funny, I was under the impression that it was light and spindly...

"What are you doing here?" the small girl exclaimed in her shrill voice, her eyebrows shooting up so high that it was in danger of disappearing into her shock of black hair. Around her, I'd missed, were two other people, both looking at me as though I was insane.

"Am I late for the wedding?" I asked, bewildered.

"What wedding?" a fourth person came into view, and I drew a breath at the sight of her. She was a stunning beauty, even with her eyes flashing arrogantly. I was shocked as I realised I knew her.

"Rosalie?" I asked, dazed. She looked so different. What was it? The hair? The eyes?

"You know her?" one of them, a muscled man, asked Rosalie.

"No, I don't believe I do," she said, glaring at me.

"I- what?" her arrogance struck a chord within me. Rosalie had always been proud, but never to this extent, "Rosalie, why?" I asked, hurt. I rose, reaching out to touch her hand, but she drew away, eyeing me suspiciously.

"What folly is this? How could you, of all people, pretend not to know me? Are you not attending my wedding in an hour? As my bridesmaid? Rosie!" I called, amazed at her indifference.

"_What the_ _hell, girl_?" the man said, with a look of undisguised repulsion at me, as he pulled Rosalie behind him as though I would hurt her. I tensed, shocked at his reaction.

"She's crazy."

"How did she even get in here?"

"Where's Edward? Ask him to read her, find out where she came from..."

They murmured among themselves, shooting me wary looks. Despaired, I looked around, and realised I wasn't in the attic. The piano keys were sleek, clean. The ceiling was high, and a polished table lay a few feet away, a vase of flowers on it.

Dear lord, where am I?

"...like really old-looking."

"Have you called?"

"She talks funny, like somebody from 1930s..." I caught a shrewd-looking man saying.

"It _is_ 1933," I replied, but I wasn't so sure anymore, "Isn't it?"

Their clothes were strange. Rosalie wore clothes that revealed her thighs and arms, something vulgar. They had strange instruments on them; the muscled man had a _clock_ on his wrist.

"It's not honey. This is 2010," the girl with the high-pitched voice replied, surveying me with a calculative expression. She too wore strange things; a strange-looking metal buckle looped around her waist, and her skirt was so short that I internally applauded myself for recognizing it as a skirt.

I felt goose bumps erupting throughout my being. This was bizarre, and not to mention, awfully frightening.

"It can't be. It's the eve of Christmas, 1933. I was in Rochester; it's- it's just not possible... This has to be either a _really_," I looked at Rosalie when I said this, "cruel joke, or a dream. I choose to think it's a joke. Rosie, if it were really 2010, you wouldn't be here. You look as young as ever." More beautiful, I thought, but it wasn't the time for compliments.

Something stirred in Rosalie's eyes. "Wait, I remember you." She squinted at my face, her eyes amazed, "You're Isabella Marie Swan," her expression was full of disbelief, "You're the girl who disappeared on the night of her wedding.

"We thought you _died_. Spirited away..." she looked at me, eyes suddenly fearful, and stepped away from me, into the arms of the muscled man, who I guess must be her beau. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered Royce King. I pushed the thought aside. That could wait. At the moment, I had my own situation to handle.

"It's not funny anymore, Rose. Please, stop it, I beg of you," I looked at her pleadingly, "Daniel Arthur Browning, come out, the joke has gone too far!" I looked around wildly, expecting my fiancé to turn up. I would be relieved – glad even – to see him at this point.

"Oh god, it really is her," Rosalie said, covering her mouth, her eyes wide with fright.

"It _is_ me Rose. Help me, please," I said desperately, looking around, feeling more and more bewildered by the moment. Rosalie simply clutched her beau, looking too scared to speak, and his arms curled around her protectively.

"Okay, calm down everybody," the shrewd-looking man finally spoke, and for some strange reason, a wave of tranquillity washed over me.

"Yes, you're right," agreed the girl with the high-pitched voice. "I didn't see this coming. We'd better call for the rest to come back. Edward can read her, and perhaps Carlisle could find an explanation." She flipped open a silver instrument from her pocket.

"Why not just throw her out of the house?" suggested Rosalie's beau, eyeing me with a hostile expression.

"Too risky," the shrewd-looking guy replied, as he turned to face me despite standing a good six feet away, "Well, Miss Swan, why don't you take a seat at the sofa over there? Let Alice and Rose speak to you, all right?" Now that he spoke longer sentences, I detected a slight, Southern accent in his words. Somehow, it seemed that everything about him radiated calm. I relaxed even more, to my own surprise.

"Thank you," I said gratefully as I plopped myself down awkwardly on the sofa that he had gestured to.

I looked at Rosalie, waiting for her to come over, and as she caught my eyes, a pained look crossed her face, mixed together with the shadow of the terror. "Sorry Bells, I can't speak to you... not now," she shook her head; "You bring back too much memories – a lot of what I don't wish to remember," she drew a breath, "Many things happened after you disappeared that night. I'm sorry, I truly am, but I can't do it, not now," she repeated again.

And with that, she left, walking upstairs. The muscled man followed her, arm still on her shoulder.

I just shook my head, trying to take it all in. It was 1933, but now 2010. Something horrible happened to Rosalie when I left. Strange people, strange clothes... _Spirited away_, Rosalie had said. I felt the hair at the back of my neck prickle with the superstition.

I glanced around to distract myself, and saw the shrewd-looking man pacing a good distance away, arms crossed. The girl, who I presumed must be Alice, spoke urgently into the silver instrument, and finally snapped it close.

Alice turned to the man, and said, "They'll be here in three, two..."

The front door clicked open and a young man about my age was the first to step in. His liquid golden eyes locked mine into a neutral gaze. At first. His face quickly transitioned from that of a quietly reflective one to a feral one, and in a split second he had blurred. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor with the breath crushed out of me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Timeless**

_A girl with extraordinary musical abilities, Bella was transported from 1933 to the 21st century when she stumbles upon a magical symphony. Soft-spoken Edward then catches her in a whirlwind of his beautiful playing, igniting the start of a fiery romance._

**Chapter 2**

Pain. So much pain. And then darkness. Bright lights, people shouting. I was vaguely aware of the sound of flimsy metallic wheels rolling against the hard cement. More darkness. I slipped in and out of consciousness, faces swimming in and out of my vision…

_Golden eyes. Pale skin. Thick red hair, large eyes… the familiar perfume of my mother. Round cheeks and stern brown eyes. My father. An aged woman. Harsh lines ran down her forehead and the corners of her mouth were turned down._

_And then I was running, running as footsteps chased after me. Desperate, I crawled out the open window and clambering onto the roof unsteadily. My fingers clutched the edges of the rough bricks as I clung on for dear life._

_My governess gave a cry of dismay. "God help that child! Where did she go?"_

_As the footsteps receded, I slowly reached out to a tile higher up to steady my position. But when I pulled on it for support, it came loose in my hand and I fell down, down, down…_

I woke up with a start, my heart thumping wildly. There was a loud beeping coming from beside me. Feeling disoriented, I lifted my hand to brush hair away from my face, and found that some kind of needle had been taped into my flesh.

"Good heavens!" I exclaimed in shock. I wanted to rip it off when cool fingers caught my other hand, stopping me.

"You shouldn't do that." I looked up to see a bronze-haired boy with vividly golden eyes.

Golden eyes… Something stirred at the back of my memories. My head spun slightly and his face blurred.

"Who-…?" I wanted to ask, but it would sound rude, so I stopped.

Trying to remember, I tilted my head, but a searing pain shot through my left shoulder and I cringed. "Ouch."

He winced at my reaction as though it hurt him, and then said quietly, "My name is Edward Cullen. Are you feeling all right?"

I blinked a few times, dazed. Everything was white, and sunlight filled the room, enhancing its brightness. The boy beside me seemed so foreign and yet so familiar at the same time. He was beautiful enough to be an angel. I blinked again, to make sure he wouldn't disappear. "Am I in heaven?"

Something flashed through his eyes as he replied, "No, you're in the hospital."

I studied him, trying to read the emotion, and failing.

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, twisting and untwisting his fingers. There was a strained expression in his enigmatic eyes, and he appeared as though mulling over something. I wanted to ask him what it was when he spoke.

"I'm so sorry," he apologised unexpectedly.

"Whatever do you mean?" I asked, startled.

But he didn't reply; only stood there, looking mortified and remorseful. I frowned at him, becoming more and more confused by the second. Racking my brain for answers, I delved into the chaos of darkness and sounds in my memories… Snarls. Blood. Pain. More pain.

I had no idea what they meant. I suppose I was attacked by some animal. I waited a little while to see if he would answer, and when he did not, I shrugged – hurting my shoulder in the process – and reached out take the glass of water at my bedside.

"Here," he said, taking the glass for me. He seemed anxious to please.

"Thank you." I took the glass, feeling a little nervous at the way he was intently staring at me, and bowed my head, downing the water quickly. Was he trying to court me?

That wouldn't do… Despite his attractiveness, I was in no position to accept him. Clearing my throat, I said, "Um. Sorry er… Mr Cullen? I…I'm engaged."

He looked stunned. "Pardon?"

"I'm engaged," I repeated, feeling rather sorry for him. And myself, for that matter. He was a handsome man. And he seemed more virtuous than Daniel would ever be.

"Engaged?" he clarified, looking adorably puzzled.

"Yes. I have a fiancé."

"Oh. All right. That's quite unusual for someone so young, but congratulations." He smiled.

Young? Something wasn't quite right about that sentence, but I couldn't pinpoint what it was in my foggy mind.

"Would you like me to call him?" He seemed uncomfortable again.

"Um…" I tried to picture what Daniel would be doing now. Probably busy making business deals. And then I shook my head. There was something I was not remembering… I closed my eyes, thinking, remembering.

And suddenly, everything came back to me. The invitations. Decorations. The dress…

"Oh god. Oh _no_. No, no, no…"

"What is it?" he seemed uneasy.

"I think I missed the wedding," I groaned, "What date is it?"

He seemed almost relieved. "It's the 25th of September 2011. You've been out for a week."

I eyed him in disbelief.

"I'm sure he'll forgive you," he assured.

"Not that. You said it's 2011," I said laughing a bit, "And it can't be September."

"It _is_ 2011," he insisted, so serious that I smiled.

"No, it's 1933," I said, amused, "I may have had an accident, but I still remember the date. It was Christmas eve, 1933."

He looked at me oddly, "I'm not joking."

I assessed his expression, and then shook my head. A clever jester. I was wrong for believing that he was virtuous. "It can't be. I need my father. Could you please send for him?"

He frowned, but didn't press the issue. "Sure. What's his number?"

"What?" I asked, baffled.

"His phone number."

"What's a phone?" I asked, puzzled and a little suspicious. "Don't you have any letter-writing materials? Where am I?"

"Forks hospital." He seemed genuinely perplexed, so I decided to be a little more tolerant. Perhaps he was truly ignorant.

"I've never heard of it," I said honestly.

"Forks is the city. It's the major hospital in this area," he explained patiently, as though he knew more than I, when it was clearly not the case.

"We can't be in Forks, wherever that is. We're in Rochester, New York," I argued. My mind was much clearer now, and I was absolutely certain of this fact.

"We're in Forks – I promise. I think you may be confused," he said, so earnestly that I might have believed him. "You hit your head pretty hard. It's probably a concussion – we'll MRI it later."

"Sorry, I don't understand the medical terms."

"A concussion. It's when you hit your head and you become confused about the information in your mind. The MRI is the device we use to scan for any internal damage."

"I'm perfectly sane, if that's what you're hinting at," I crossed my arms, feeling faintly irritated. First he was trying to fool me, and now this?

"I'm not saying you're crazy," he said, using the word so bluntly I felt slightly insulted, "It's a normal enough phenomenon," he said, in a manner that one would use when speaking to a child.

Utterly unimpressed, I looked at him squarely in the eye as I said, "I don't know what you are saying. I have never heard of Forks. Let me tell you what I know, which I must insist is the truth. We are in Rochester, New York. The date was 24th December 1933. If I have been unconscious for a week, then it is the 31st of December 1933. My name is Isabella. I live with my father and my governess. My mother and my four siblings were taken by the flu in 1918.

"So tell me dear sir, how can my mother and siblings be taken by a flu that has occurred over ninety years ago? It is a preposterous suggestion! And I refuse to believe that I have some vulgar mind disease. Will you kindly stop jesting and send for my father? Please. I believe you are a gentleman of worth, and you ought to know better than to deceive a lady in that manner."

He looked… stumped. And he remained that way for the next few seconds before he said, more courteously than before, "Give me a moment, please."

And he left the room. I sighed in relief. What a strange man.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Edward<strong>_

"Rosalie," I struggled not to sound irritated as she finally picked up what had to be my twenty-seventh call.

"What?" she sounded sour.

"Alice said you knew that girl – Isabella."

"I don't know her. The girl I know was from a different lifetime. She disappeared. Spirited away or whatever they said. I don't know who this one is. Probably sent from the devil himself to haunt me." Her tone was flat, but I could hear an undercurrent of fear in it. I sighed inwardly. For someone who had experienced the 21st century, Rosalie was still superstitious.

"She thinks she's in 1933," I tried.

"So? She's crazy." Rosalie's tone was obstinate, with an edge of hysteria to it.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to stay calm for the sake of the girl. I owed her that much, after landing her in the hospital. Guilt stirred at the pit of my stomach again, making me feel mildly nauseous.

"She acts like a woman from that era. I can judge, Rosalie. You know that. Please. If you know her please just… just come over and comfort her. I don't know how she got here either – we're all confused and worried. I know that this must be difficult for you, but you're the only familiar face. She refuses to believe me."

Silence.

It dragged for such a long time that I thought she might hung up on me. But then she spoke.

"Okay." Rosalie's voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

"Thank you," I breathed a sigh of relief as I snapped my phone shut.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Isabella<strong>_

I had almost drifted off to sleep again when the door clicked open. I peered at the woman who walked in, feeling immensely surprised.

"Rosie!" I said, astonished. I had never seen Rosalie someone who would go out of her way to visit me in the hospital.

"Er. Yes. How are you doing?" she asked awkwardly, rearranging her scarves and the numerous shimmering bangles on her arms.

"All right. I missed the wedding though. Daniel must be quite upset. What brings you here?"

"I came…" she sounded hesitant. "I came to explain the situation to you."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Edward<strong>_

She was quiet the entire journey back. Rosalie hadn't bothered to leave out the part about me attacking her, and she'd given out a frightened squeak the moment she saw me. I sighed. I supposed I deserved it.

"I'm sorry," I tried. But despite her nods and forced smiles, she was impossible to soothe. Even Rosalie she now eyed with doubt and apprehension. Her horrified outcry of "_Vampires_?" that I'd heard from the waiting room continued to echo around my head as I pulled into the driveway.

Excluding the humans the Volturi called their pets, she had to be the first human who walked free after knowing our secret. With the shocking connection she had with Rosalie, it was impossible to keep it from her _and_ tell her that it was 2011. She was stuck with us too, ever since we rushed her to the hospital under the guise of Carlisle's distant niece.

Personally, I felt that her situation was far more bizarre than our vampire status. There had to be thousands of vampires around the world. But a human who was out of their time zone? She was one-of-a-kind.

Her mannerisms and quirks – the archaic style with which she spoke, her withdrawn gaze, the way she sat, legs primly together and her hands folded neatly in her lap – brought back so many memories to me that it made my head hurt. I was constantly assaulted by memories of myself as a newborn, the Spanish flu, and worst of all, my rebellious phase.

While I drowned in my melancholy, Rosalie was going through a hard time. She was uncharacteristically contemplative and reflective as she sat beside the girl. For the first time, I could suddenly see more shades of her. I was a little shocked to realise that her superficiality was a defense mechanism for her trauma. I had judged her quite harshly for her shallowness before and making unfair assumptions about her character… it embarrassed me.

As for Isabella… she had a silent mind. I wasn't too surprised – it seemed quite fitting for the queer little time traveller.

"Will I be living with you then, Rosie?" she asked timidly.

"What, so you think we'll dump you at the side of the road so you can forage for food in the trash?" Rosalie snapped.

She seemed shocked by Rosalie's vocabulary, and didn't reply. I shot Rosalie a reproachful look.

I would have comforted her if it were not for the fact that she was more intimidated of me than she was of Rosalie. Isabella awoke a strange, protective instinct in me, which I found contradictory to the way her blood burnt my throat so cruelly.

I was so focused on my self-restraint that I did not notice Rosalie slip away. I glanced to the back of the car. I was now left to help Isabella of the irresistible blood into our home. For the umpteenth time today, I sighed.

* * *

><p><strong>Special thanks to my lovely reviewers :)<strong>

**shayna. lane**

**Sweetie7smiled**

**serena83**

**Misslisa241**


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